


In the Night of Dawn

by pantsoffdanceoff



Category: Pepsi Nex Zero "Momotaro" Commercials
Genre: Bird Kingdom lore, Fairy Tale Retellings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-22 18:37:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9620390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantsoffdanceoff/pseuds/pantsoffdanceoff
Summary: Long, long ago, in a place far, far away, Momotaro went on an adventure with his friends--Monkey, Dog, and Pheasant.Or: How much is a feather worth, anyway?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Clocketpatch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clocketpatch/gifts).



> The title and the inspiration for the story both come from the Japanese children's game [Kagome Kagome](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kagome_Kagome).

Long, long ago, in a place far, far away, Momotaro went on an adventure with his friends--Monkey, Dog, and Pheasant. And on that adventure, they came to a forest, and in that forest a fork between two roads. Dog said they should go left. Monkey said they should go right.

Momotaro said, “Pheasant, what do you think?”

Pheasant carefully selected a feather from his rainbow-color wings and plucked it out. It was green, like the shiny back of a beetle. Lifted by a gentle breeze, the feather fluttered a little--see how it flashes in the soft light?--before floating down the path to the right.

“Yes!” shouted Monkey, dancing on the spot. He stuck his tongue out at Dog.

None of them paid any attention to the feather, floating in the darkness. Maybe they should have.

After all, every choice is important.

\---

Do you remember your first birthday?

Think hard. You made the most important choice on that day, you know, on a soft woven mat, sitting in front of a row of feathers neatly laid out, in every color and shape imaginable.

“Pick one,” an adult had said, their feet creaking on the dried, sweet-smelling rush as they gave you room to crawl.

Did you grab the bright blue tail feather of the kingfisher?

Or maybe the banded sail feather of the mandarin duck?

Or maybe, like Pheasant, you chose the downy breast feather of the red-crowned crane, pressing it to your cheek to feel its softness, as your brother gnawed on his own magpie wing feather.

“Ah, a long life filled with love,” Father had said, kissing Pheasant on the cheek. “Good choice.”

“And victory everywhere he goes,” said Mother, replacing Crow’s feather with rock candy. She gathered up his feather so that it could be sewn into his set of wings, the heavy weight a reminder of the path his life will take.

Which feather did you choose?

\---

Every fairytale has its monster. Golden Boy fought a bear. The One-Inch Boy fought an ogre. Momotaro and his friends woke up one morning to find their inn being attacked by a giant bird, so big it blotted out the sun.

“What is it?” said Monkey, between slinging one rock and the next. They bounced harmlessly off the bird as it breathed fire on the wooden buildings.

“Bird,” said Dog, pacing and growling. The bird was well out of his reach.

“Yes, of course it’s a bird,” snapped Monkey. “What Monkey wants to know is what kind it is.”

Pheasant took to the skies, gusty and hot. He pecked at the bird, making it twist this way and that, its claws unable to snatch Pheasant. It swung its massive head at Pheasant, and he swooped out of the way, turning just in time to see two fiery eyes.

Two very familiar eyes.

A wave of water splashed over them both. Crow screamed, his fire hissing into steam.

“Pheasant, get out of the way!” shouted Momotaro, his hands cupped around his mouth. The villagers were climbing all over a giant wood contraption.

Pheasant got out of the way, just in time for the trebuchet to launch more water at Crow. He screeched and shot up into the sky.

The sun shone again.

\---

Sometimes, he dreamed of Crow.

Sometimes spreading his adult wings, dark and iridescent purple under the sun; sometimes in his coming-of-age robe, the pleated pants billowing in the wind.

Sometimes he dreamed of him in the center of a circle of dancing children, their feet clacking on the pavestones of the courtyard as they sang a silly song.

 _The crane and the turtle slipped and fell_ , they sang, the old nursery rhyme just as familiar as the circle they skipped around the ogre in the middle, _Who is behind you now?_

“Pheasant,” said Crow, even before they clattered to a halt. The dreamy light cast strange shadows on his back, giving it the frail neck of childhood, the gawky chest of adolescence, the broad wings of adulthood.

 _How did you know?_ Pheasant wanted to ask, but the words wouldn’t come. A terrible premonition came over him. He didn’t want to know. Nothing good could come out of knowing. He wanted to stay here, frozen in time, Crow forever before him, as he should be.

“Are you going to ignore me, the Golden Crow of the Eight-Span Wings?” said Crow, standing as he spoke. There was something wrong with his voice. “Mouthpiece for the Gods, Guide from Heaven,” His eyes were bright and terrible, his brocade jacket tearing along the seams as he towered over Pheasant, stony wings unfurling from his body. He opened his mouth to speak, his head among the clouds, but instead flames billowed out, scorching Pheasant before--

“--ake up! Pheasant!”

Pheasant flailed in the darkness, sure that he had gone blind, only to find the sheets tangled about him, hands trapping him before he could feel the charred remains of his face. Momotaro’s voice said, right next to his ear, “Pheasant, it’s just me. You were having a nightmare.”

Pheasant blinked. The roaring in his ears faded away, leaving only the constant drone of cicadas. Momotaro’s hands squeezed gently before letting go, and Pheasant let out a shaky breath. He could make out the lumpy shapes of Dog and Monkey on the other side of the tent, rolled together in their sleep as always. In the morning, there would be heated arguments, mostly about personal space, but for now--

For now, Dog snuffled and tucked his nose further under Monkey’s chin, and Monkey’s arms tightened around Dog’s waist.

Pheasant took a calming breath, letting the sounds of summer lull him back to sleep, Momotaro already breathing slow and deep beside him.

\---

What’s worth more than all the gold and silver in the world, but is given away for free?

\---

Pheasant crouched in an alley. He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning his head against the chilly wood. Hunger gnawed at him. It’d been months since Crow had disappeared without a word into the night, and no one could say where he had gone. He’d given chase, of course, but the leads had dried up faster than the seasonal creeks in summer.

Pheasant’s coin purse dried up soon after, and with them, his songs.

Picture this: the prince of a kingdom kneeling in the grime of a city far from home, begging for alms.

“What pretty feathers,” said a voice above him, “They’d look great on Monkey’s coat.”

A fuzzy-looking creature, his face long and thin, crouched to pluck at Pheasant’s wings. He jerked back, the sudden movement making the world spin and whirl. Pheasant was too sick to stand and fight, but he would to the death, to protect the feathers his people had given him to guide him on his journey.

“Monkey, leave the poor thing alone,” said another voice, and the blur of Monkey bobbed away, “Who are you?”

Pheasant was too tired to dance, but he could still speak. _I am Pheasant,_ he said, to the worried-looking face that swam into view.

The face frowned. “Sorry?” he said.

“O-o-oh,” said Monkey, bouncing back into view, “That looks like a pheasant, if you ask Monkey. Look.” He repeated the sentence with his own fingers, a green pheasant fanning his wings in a dance for love.

“Your name is Pheasant?” said the man.

Pheasant nodded.

“Are you hungry?” said the man.

Pheasant nodded again.

Soft, floury dumplings appeared before his face. Pheasant snatched one up before it could be taken away, biting into it. It was soft and sweet, with the nuttiness of coarse millet. But more than that, he could taste the wind cooling an old man’s back as he pounded the cooked grain into dough, an old woman’s song as she shaped and dusted each dumpling with fawnlily root starch, and grass brushing wistfully at a man’s ankle as he left home with only a meal tied into a handkerchief hanging from his hip.

Pheasant had tasted sugar sculptures, molded into the shape of dancing goldfish and cranes, their feathers and scales painted with gold. He’d eaten lychee shipped on ice across the sea, delicate morsels worth more than their weight in silver. None of them had his stomach growling for more like this.

“Good, aren’t they?” said the man, handing Pheasant another one. “Best dumplings in the country.”

Pheasant nodded a third time, the taste of love melting on his tongue.

\---

Even all the birds of the kingdom couldn’t give Pheasant an endless supply of feathers, and he used one of the last on a beach at the tip of the edge of the earth. They watched it tumble on the salt air, grey and speckled.

“Do we have to?” said Monkey, dancing on his toes. “Maybe the wind’s carrying it off course. If you ask Monkey, we should try again when there’s no wind.”

They all looked at the last lonely feather, fluttering sadly on Pheasant’s naked wing.

“Go,” said Dog, herding Monkey onto the boat.

 “We’ll be fine,” said Momotaro, unfurling the sail. “Besides, the other island isn’t so far away.”

“How can you tell?” said Monkey. He huddled in the middle of the boat, as far away from the sides as possible.

Near the horizon, seagulls wheeled and dove. Pheasant tried to show Monkey how seagulls built their nests on cliffs and beaches, flying over the waters for food, never quite part of either world, but unable to leave the other. It seemed to be a good distraction, Monkey uncurling himself from a fetal position, so Pheasant kept dancing. He showed Monkey how they were masters of the air, circling for fish, before diving into the sea to--

“Whoa, steady--” said Momotaro, but it was too late.

Pheasant grabbed onto the side of the boat just before it capsized.

The boat bobbed crazily as Pheasant fought to keep himself above water, their baskets floating away around them.

“Help!” sputtered Monkey, struggling in Dog’s grip. “Monkeys don’t swim. Help!” He kicked out, splashing the water all around.

“Pheasant,” said Momotaro, surfacing next to him. “Help me right this boat. Heave, ho!”

It took a couple tries, but they managed to get the boat back upright and all the water out. Fishing all of the baskets out of the water took much longer, and even then, a good half was missing.

 _Sorry_ , Pheasant tried to say, but Dog growled at him, draped protectively around a shivering Monkey.

“Looks like the sail is torn,” said Momotaro. “Pheasant, do you still have your needle?”

Pheasant produced it, threading his strongest thread through the eye and tying a knot.

The tear was rather large, twice the length of his foot. Pheasant poked his needle through the waxed fabric, looping it a few times to secure it, before starting to sew it together.

“What’s this?” said Monkey, peering over his elbow. Pheasant showed him how to pleat the fabric, so that the needle poked through in tiny, even increments, until he drew the thread through, producing a series of neat stitches. His father had taught him how to repair his own wings, but the skill transferred to canvas too.

Monkey scoffed. “Monkey can do it better,” he said, and chivvied Pheasant out of his seat, turning the needle and thread over in his hands, curiously. He nudged Dog away, too. “Go away, you smell like wet dog.”

Pheasant sat at the head of the boat, where he wouldn’t be in anyone’s way, closing his eyes to feel the breeze. Something nudged his leg.

It was Dog, scrunching his body so his head could fit in Pheasant’s lap, his eyes glancing almost shyly at Pheasant. Pheasant smiled and preened him, scratching lightly behind his ears.

\---

Cliffs rose, high above the water, as they approached, pockmarked with caves. On the tallest one of all, a castle sat, its golden roof and red handrails glaring under the sun.

“How do we even get up there?” said Monkey, as Momotaro and Dog hauled the boat up the beach.

Pheasant hesitated, looking at his last feather.

“It’s worth a try, right?” said Momotaro.

Pheasant plucked it, and blew. The downy, white feather hung in the air for a moment, before drifting in the opposite direction, towards a flat plain.

The waves beat against the cliff, and a seagull gave a lonely cry.

“Your feathers lead you towards your brother, don’t they?” said Momotaro, finally. “Perhaps he’s not with the other ogres.”

Pheasant let his eyes wander across the green-gold expanse of grass, wondering if the occasional flash of white were figments of his imagination or not. Somewhere out there was Crow, but not Momotaro’s quest for revenge. There was no way to reconcile the two.

He turned and gave his friends his deepest bow.

“It has been an honor traveling with you,” said Momotaro, bowing just as deeply. “I wish you the best with your brother.”

Pheasant turned and walked away. Dog howled.

\---

The plains stretched as far as the eye could see, and Pheasant had nothing but his eyes and his two feet to carry him towards Crow. He wished for a feather, whether to pluck or to lift him into the air.

A voice carried in the wind. _Turn around, turn around,_ it sang, _the bird in the cage._

The sun dimmed.

Pheasant whirled around, bowled over by the sweep of Crow’s wing. He was somehow even bigger than in Pheasant’s nightmares, the cracks in his rough-hewn wings spewing fire.

Pheasant couldn’t fly, couldn’t fight on the ground, and the nearest water source was the sea.

He ran.

The air rent with screeches, and flames burst just hand spans from his head, but Pheasant didn’t look behind him, the air burning in his lungs as he ran, the cliff tops slowly creeping into view.

And then Dog shot past him in a blur of white fur.

“Hey, you!” said Monkey, whirling a sling above his head, “Why are you looking over there when Monkey’s right here?”

He let lose Momotaro's water gourd, nailing Crow right between the eyes, just as Dog slashed at his feet. Crow screamed, reeling back, shaking his head. He swiped at Dog with his first clawed foot, his second--

His third set of claws caught Dog right in the midsection, flinging him in a great arc through the air, where he would have hit the sand but for Monkey catching him. Momotaro leapt into the air, his sword flashing--see how it dazzles!--and sliced into Crow’s side.

Feathers of every color of the rainbow spilled out of a pouch at Crow’s pouch, scattering in the wind.

“Monkey thinks you left out some very relevant information!” shouted Monkey, pawing at Dog’s side, “Who forgets to talk about their brot--blood! Oh, there’s blood!” He ripped off Dog’s vest, revealing a bloody gash in his side, “You stupid mutt! Why didn’t you say you were hurt?”

In the air, Crow snatched at the feathers, howling as they escaped his claws.

“We need to retreat and regroup,” said Momotaro, panting. “We can’t fight hurt. Pheasant, I need you to--”

Crow backhanded Momotaro out of the blue, sending him tumbling in the sand. His eyes glowed with fury, his mouth with flames as he drew his head back, taking aim at Monkey and Dog.

“What are you doing?” said Monkey, frantically, as Pheasant stepped in front of them. “Get out of the way. Monkey’s got it here.”

Pheasant planted his feet firmly in the sand.

“Run!” Dog barked weakly.

Pheasant tuned out Monkey’s fretful noises, concentrating on his people, the love they had given him to protect him in his time of need. He spread his wings.

Crow let lose a blast of fire, just as Pheasant’s wings glowed, feathers sprouting from them in a dazzle of color as they caught the fireball, nearly ripping from Pheasant’s shoulder blades. He gritted his teeth, straining back.

An image flashed through his mind. Two brothers, one with black wings, one white, sitting on the edge of the castle. _Look at all of the kingdom that’s ours_ , said one brother, _which half do you want?_

Pheasant pushed with all his strength, and flung the flames right back at Crow. They weren’t so different after all. Greedy for all of the kingdom--Crow for all of its power, Pheasant for all of their love.

The heavens exploded with light.

There was a brief moment where Pheasant could see Crow, silhouetted against the brilliant glow of fire, before he had to tent his wings over them all to protect them.

\---

Every story has an ending. Some of them are happy, and some of them are sad. In some of them, Momotaro rides home on a palanquin, laden with gold and treasures and a wife. In others, Monkey is greeted by his living parents.

In this one, Pheasant cradles Crow in his lap, brushing the soot off his head, still glossy and black.

“Have you come to bring me low,” rasps Crow, “Mock me when I have nothing?" He coughs. "Answer me. Why are you still here?”

Around them, the fires still rage, darkening the sky with ash. Dog’s wounds are bound with strips of rags, and Momotaro tests his weight on his bad leg.

The castle still towers above the cliffs.

Pheasant wraps his wings around Crow’s ruined eyes, shielding him from the world, as he should have all these years ago.

 _What’s worth more than all the gold and silver in the world, but is given away for free?_ an old woman had said, back when the two of them were fledglings, almost too long ago for Pheasant to believe.

Crow had tilted his head, eyeing the sweets she held before them, but Pheasant had beaten him to the punch.

 _Love_ , he gestured, as big as he could, grinning as broadly as the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, I took a lot of liberties with the source material. I hope you had as much fun reading the story as I did writing it?


End file.
